towerofanimus | ITP: Meandering

Entry tags:

ITP: Meandering

Characters: Arturia Pendragon [AU5] and anyone
Setting: Dorms, Floor One, Floor Twenty-~~three~~four, and Floor Thirty-eight.
Format: Prose
Summary: Arturia wakes up in the tower after what must be countless centuries of forced combat.... and has no idea what to do with herself!
Warnings: DEATH! WOOHOO! In the first post, too! \o/

[Room 03-17]
It was with a jolt and a gasp that she finally sat up, hand going to her neck only to find the collar there but all the same she could move. She could move. She could breathe.

"W-what?"

She could speak.

What was this place? Yet another battlefield in which she'd be made to slaughter guilty and innocent alike endlessly, an angel of death garbed in blood-stained white for all to see? It made no sense to her. None whatsoever. She glanced around the room for any sign of what she was meant to do but only found other beds like the one she laid on and a trunk much like the one at the foot of her bed. Her eyes finally fell on the notes and she snatched them up, reading them thoroughly, her heart squeezing with every moment.

The world was.... gone? She was free? Free from her punishment?

Arturia had no idea how to feel about this. On the one hand even she could be grateful of the reprieve, but on the other hand it had been at the cost of who knows how many lives? And what if the world itself was still in tact? Would she go right back to fighting endlessly as soon as she returned? Questions. So many questions she didn't understand, but she balled up her notes and placed them in the trashcan. With barely a thought she summoned what was now her normal attire, sans the collar. Apparently the collar placed on her here superseded it. No matter. It wasn't like she was really attached to anything beyond her sword at this point.

And so Arturia headed out of her dorm, wanting to know just where she'd wound up and where to go from here.

[Floor One]
If there was one indulgence she would allow herself, it was food. Naturally when she'd read she'd have to eat some oatmeal before she could eat anything else she'd been fine with it.

There wasn't much of a spread in the cafeteria, simply eggs for breakfast, and once she was done with her oatmeal she tore into them like a hyena. It wasn't very kingly or knightly or even as lady-like as her appearance would suggest, but it was something. They were not the best made nor would it have been memorable otherwise--but it was food! Real food! And a delicious smell beyond the smell of blood and steal she never knew she'd grow tired of.

Part of her mind went back to those meals in Fuyuki, how warm the house had been, how Shirou had insisted she eat at the table with everyone else despite her and Rin's protests.

How delicious the meals had been, cooked with a care and pride not common in her time. Arturia found her appetite gone, the food tasting like ash, but not wanting to waste it, she forced herself to finish, though she no longer looks happy about it.

[Floor Twenty-Two to Floor Twenty-Four]

Wait, had she lost count of the floors? Arturia thought back for a moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, she could have sworn she just went past the twenty-third floor to explore, so why could she not remember it. She turned on the stairs to check again. She needed to be thorough in creating a mental map of this place and the dangers it could present.

Except she bypassed it again! What was wrong with her? Had she been controlled for so long her senses were completely dull?! With a frustrated sigh she turned again to go up the stairs--

--and again she missed the floor entirely! And again! Again again again she kept missing it. This tower would not make a fool of her! She turned yet again, this time counting the number of stairs to make sure she didn't miss the floor, a determined look on her face, and unaware of how her body was slowly becoming vaguely transparent time she passed the twenty-third floor.

[Floor Thirty-Eight]
Her body didn't ache after climbing so many stairs like a normal person would, but Arturia knew there was only so much time in the day. The elevator would be a few flights up and then she could see about returning to her dorm to become further acquainted with her roommates. But for now this room seemed as good enough place as any to rest and gather her thoughts.

The elation of being able to move freely, to speak freely, to make her own choices was starting to lose its novelty. Arturia sank into a bean bag chair, for once in her now-long life not caring how dignified she looked in doing so. If the world had, indeed, ended and she had, somehow, been saved, it left one question on her mind that she couldn't hold back any longer. For so long everything had been clear before her, her path marked with a vivid certainty she could not take her eyes from.

Only now it was gone. Gone not just in the world itself being gone, but her Kingdom, her friends, every last person had been lost to her by coming here; destroyed by her own hand. For so long she had believed there was no escaping her fate, her punishment, and now here she was, completely and utterly alone and lost.

"What do I do now?" she asked aloud both for the novelty and because some part of her mind was beginning to settle into a sort of malaise of "who cares"?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There was a very long moment where Saber did nothing as she looked down at the one that looked like her. And yes, she did look down at her. She was exactly what Saber wanted to forget - at least she thought so - pathetic child playing at king.

She could see the tenseness in the other Servant's shoulders and her own head raised a bit more. The motion gave the one sitting below the angle to see the scrawling red lines Angra Mainyu's corruption had written across her skin, nor did Saber do anything to contain the presence of her tainted prana.

And then she spoke.

"Why are you wearing that?"

Arturia was very aware this other person was looking down on her. And yet, she found, she did not really care.

"Because it's all I have," is all she said. Which was true. Some part of her always wondered why she'd gone from the blue raiment to this white dress after attaining the Grail. Maybe some part of her wish had been to be the girl Shirou had wanted, but she knew she could not be. Maybe it was some sort of strange symbolism to make her an image of the angel of death to those she had been made to kill.

Maybe someone just had an awful sense of humor. Who knew? ~~Spoilers: it's the sense of humor.~~

But the prana and the corruption did make her get to her feet. Still, this woman had no weapon on her so Arturia obliged her by not yet summoning Caliburn to her side. She knew, from experience, that if this person who reminded her of Morganna was just as powerful as she, that she could summon it to her side before a spell could hit. This did not leave her at any form of a disadvantage that she knew of.

But the corruption. The corruption she remembered. Many of her memories of her life were piecemeal and moth-eaten, but there were many things that stood out she would never lose. Among them had been the acrid feeling of that corruption sticking to her skin as she stared down the Grail and made her wish, and when she'd stabbed through every man, woman, and child of Camelot that had been forced to bathe in it afterward because of her stupid stupid wish.

"Who are you?"

Saber scoffed at that. "I do not find that to be an acceptable answer. Even if that garment was chosen for you by your Master as mine was for me, you still agreed to wear it. It is not simply 'all' you have," she retorted, knowing full well she agreed with Sakura's choice in black as it reflected her enlightenment far better than the royal blue did.

And then her eyes narrowed at the question she was asked. This woman was so... feminine, but she knew her own face when she saw it. Well, her old face. She was tempted to answer with a heavy implication in it, but chose to keep it simple, just in case. Second Magic wasn't something she understood very well.

"I am called Saber. Are you not also of the Saber Class?"

Arturia didn't blame her one bit for not finding it an acceptable answer. After all, if there positions were reversed she'd want to know the same as well.

"I do not know. I was not summoned here, though I imagine if I was summoned to the Grail War that, yes, I would be of the Saber class. I was that in the past."

In the past. When she thought hell had been dying on a pile of bodies and her only hope had been to wish for a miracle that would ultimately create a far worse hell. Yet, at least, she knew the hell she held was of her own doing. From the look of this other she didn't quite know the full implications of the Grail itself.

"As to my attire, no," she held up one of the "petals" of her skirt between two fingers curiously, "My Master did not choose it. I have no idea how it came to be. It was simply there after my second War."

Edited 2013-01-07 05:39 (UTC)

After my second War. That was all Saber needed to hear to know. Her eyes roamed slowly over the woman before her, taking in the look. She despised it. Female Saber may have been born, but she'd never been a woman. Perhaps this was the Saber that Shirou pined after.

"The Fifth Holy Grail War." The muscle along Saber's jaw twitched. "Did you finally get to sleep, King of Knights? Did you finally free yourself from your foolish ideals? Rid yourself from your delusions of what a hero truly was?"

Oh, if only she knew the full extent of it. If she only knew just how hard she had fallen then perhaps she would understand the farce, the sheer hell she'd been through.

Did you finally get to sleep?

No. No she did not. Arturia couldn't even remember what it was like to sleep, to truly sleep without a care or worry in the world, to actually be able to rest, her life nothing but a succession of battle after battle after battle she could not stop herself from fighting, screaming inside her own head.

Though, the tone this woman took, the way she spoke, the very way she held herself told her all she needed to make a guess about just who this woman was.

"Yes, I did. Though it took seeing it through to the end to realize it, Morganna."

No one said it was the correct guess.

...never once in Saber's existence did she ever wonder what it must have been like to be as Lancelot had in the Fourth War. Never once did she even think about how it must feel to have one's reason taken over by the madness the Berserker Class was known for. Never. Though she did think in the back of her mind right then, that that instant of hearing that name being used to address her, might be the closest she would ever get to understanding what her knight may have gone through.

The rage that welled up in her was black and thick, carrying the metallic tang of what had been her first betrayal. That woman, that vile woman that shared her blood, that had used wicked ways to seduce the King of Britain at a most opportune moment to beget a son... To begin the ruin of her reign, of her pride, the first moment of dishonor as she'd been given the gift she had to bed her wife and father a true heir to the throne.

And this woman had dared call her by that name?!

In an instant, blackened jagged armor with red veins running through it materialized upon Saber's body and the pulsing dark sword, Excalibur, was in hand. Grabbing the other woman about the neck, she drove Excalibur at an upward angle into her torso, under her ribcage. Leaving the blade there, she pulled the woman's face close to her own, staring with black hatred into those green eyes she was finding herself hating so much.

"You will never call me by that name again, Arturia Pendragon. I do not care if that woman shares blood with me, such an insult to me, to my honor, can only be paid one way." She twisted the blade. "When you wake, Arturia, we will talk again and you will remember who you are addressing and not that woman."

Arturia was right in that she had the time to summon Caliburn to her side.

What had shocked her was seeing this woman summon Excalibur and it was in that instant that Arturia knew just how wrong she was in calling her by that name. That one moment of shock was what had done her in because in the next second that tainted sword was driven into her, the pain of it driving every thought from her head. Then she was brought close and it was here, it was now that she realized that the face she looked into was her own.

To her credit, she did not make a sound as the blade was twisted, but her grip drew limp, Caliburn falling to the ground beside her. If she had the strength in that moment she would perhaps say something--just what completely eluded her--but it'd be something.

Somehow, she managed to nod. At least, she tried to. It was hard to move, hard to breathe, and in the next instance she was gone.

Messing up even now? Somehow, it seemed fitting.

The nod was recognized. In the depth of Saber's rage, she noted the acknowledgement of who she was to this other self. It was then that the anger subsided enough that she withdrew Excalibur from the other woman and let go when the light in those green eyes faded.

Letting the body fall to the floor, blood staining the carpet, Saber flicked the crimson off Excalibur before she lowered the sword. Eyes swept the area for any that might feel the unwise need to interfere only to rest upon the sword.

Caliburn - the Sword of Promised Victory that had sealed her fate. Her birthright. She had not seen it since that day it had shattered in battle, before Vivian had gifted her with Excalibur. Lip sneering a bit, she brought her armored foot down on the blade with every bit of her monstrous strength.

...it faded just before her foot made contact, disappearing as she'd known it would. There was a storm in her eyes as she stalked out of the lounge; she needed to search the dorm floor nameplates to find that woman's room.

On the plus side, she now knew for a fact the letter hadn't been lying when it said people here were revived from the dead. Her chest still ached with phantom pain from where she'd been run through by the corrupted Excalibur.

On the other hand, she did not appreciate the paralysis at all. Arturia had spent so long with her body moving outside of her command that any attempt to control it made her panic, afraid she'd be forced to get up at any moment to slaughter the people here. She fought it, every fiber of her being fought the paralysis to no avail.

Just like when she'd been forced to fight.

Questions still ran through Arturia's mind. She hadn't wanted to believe it at the time, but that had definitely been some other version of herself, corrupted as the people of Camelot had been. It'd been disturbing to realize she wasn't looking at her long-dead half-sister--shocking to realize how much she and Morganna had looked alike if she could make that mistake. Is that how she would have wound up had different choices been made?

....would taking that corruption inside herself have been worth it, if it meant Camelot could have continued on?

Arturia had nothing to do but wait. It ended the previous time, right? She forced her body to relax. How much longer would she have to wait?

More than long enough for the door to the room to burst open and the blackened knight still in full armor with bared blade in hand to enter. Dark prana swirling about her, Saber stopped to stand over the white version of herself. Staring down at Arturia's paralyzed body, her eyes locked onto the other woman's and she raised Excalibur above her. For a long moment, she seriously thought about cutting the woman down again - long enough for a drop of Arturia's own blood to drip off of the sword to stain that white dress.

But no. This other self of hers was completely defenseless. Slaughtering her would be a dishonorable act and, even as corrupt as Saber was, she still held her honor. So, the blade was dismissed and Saber... sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.

"If for some reason, your wits have left you and you still do now know who I am, allow me to remind you. I am Arturia Pendragon, rightful and true heir of Uther Pendragon, and King of the Britons. I am from the end of the Fifth Holy Grail War," she said, eyes still looking over the form of her other self with disdain. She was so girly. "When you can speak, you will answer this question before you ask your own: which War are you from?"

And then Saber sat and waited, never once taking her eyes off the other woman.

It wasn't like she liked the girly dress either. If she'd had the chance she would have pointed this out. As it was, her eyes followed her other self, looking into her face as Excalibur was held above her. Yet, somehow, she knew this version of herself would not do it. She was completely defenseless and even if she was not honorable she would likely not want her to have further reason for comparisons to Morganna.

Even then, Arturia found, she wasn't afraid of the pain. More disturbing was the sight of a corrupted Excalibur and yet again she had to wonder how this came to pass. That sword had been her pride, a symbol of her pride and honor. What could have happened to twist it so? Her eyes did not leave it until it was dismissed and then they moved to look up at her corrupted self, the smell of her prana making her ill more than any blood possibly could. It reminded her of that first battle, the people of Camelot screaming and writhing and trying to run from her and from each other as they were consumed.

To this day, Arturia didn't know if she had succeeded in clearing it all out.

When the paralysis finally went away she sat up, flexed her hands and arched her back simply to remind herself she now had some measure of freedom again. However, she knew very well her own tolerance for frivolities so she turned to her other self after only a moment and said:

"I am from no Grail War."

After all, how could she when she'd given up her right to her own legend long ago?

Saber didn't move as Arturia sat up and stretched a little. She watched her carefully, wondering what would have happened has she been seen by her people like that. A white queen. There was no way this Arturia was a king. Not dressed like that.

"I did not ask you which Grail War you were from. I asked you which War you were from," Saber pointed out with a bit of an edge in her voice. "You carry Caliburn. That sword was broken a very long time ago."

"I know. I broke it originally fighting...." she reached up, touching one temple as she tried to remember. While there were things that stood out--Morganna's singsong taunts, Mordred's voice as he begged to know why during his final breath, major events of the Fourth War, most of the Fifth War--her memory had many holes in it, like a blanket that was slowly accumulating holes. It was disturbing to realize she couldn't remember precisely how she'd broken the sword, but she could venture a guess.

"Perceval? I don't know why I have it again. I should not even be recognized by it anymore."

Saber's eyes closed and she bowed her head a little. "Close. His father, King Pellinore."

Had she not forced that fight over that Beast that reflected everything her nightmares were telling her of her son and the unforgivable act of her sister... She'd known she had no right to the Beast and the quest belonged to Pellinore. She should have died then... and would have if Merlin hadn't been there. What would have happened had she perished by her own unchivalrous act? Would Pellinore have taken the throne of Britain and been a better king than she?

"Let me see it. Caliburn will always recognize the true king of Britain."

Though Saber had her doubts if it would accept her touch. Avalon rejected her because of the corruption and she could not even hold it in her hand. Would Caliburn do the same?

Arturia did not let the brief moment of panic that went through her show on her face. Pellinore? She couldn't recall the name at all, nor Perceval's father at all or what the fight had been about. Caliburn had been her one link to the past, her one link left to her kingdom and her identity and she could not even properly remember how she broke it in the first place? Would she keep losing bits and pieces of herself like this until she could no longer remember even Guinevere or Irisviel or Shirou, painful as the memories of them were?

For a brief childish instant she didn't want to give this woman Caliburn, fearing she'd be able to hold it, that it would recognize her as High King and then reject Arturia. Yet, she recognized, she had given up the right to it when she'd made her wish, when she'd asked the Grail to choose someone else as High King in her place. She'd lost any right to even the title of 'King of Knights' the moment she beheaded Shirou without a second thought.

Silently, she held up her hand and brought forth Caliburn. Then, finding herself unable to look, she held it out for her other self to take. It took tremendous effort to keep her hand from trembling, to keep her fear of the one thing that had stood by her through her personal hell deciding this dark corrupted self was a better Master than she. Even if it became twisted by corruption as Excalibur had been, it'd be a better fate than being carried by a parody such as she herself had become.

The sword was before her again and she stared at it. Her eyes roamed over every inch, over the gold inlaid into it, the jeweled nature of it. It was inferior to Excalibur as it was a king's sword and not a knight's sword. Should the two blades clash, Excalibur would be the victor as a king's sword was more ceremonial than practical.

And yet, Saber had stared at Caliburn many a time while it was buried in the stone. She'd watched so many try to pull it before the lords and knights had given up on it as being irremovable. It was alone with just the eyes of an old wizard and a few others passing by upon her that she'd taken the hilt and drawn it smoothly from the stone. It was hers by right.

Saber reached her hand out to take it, but stopped. No, it wasn't an aura from the sword preventing her or anything, but her own actions that stopped her. Caliburn would always recognize the true king of Britain, and she...

Seeing that Arturia wasn't even looking at the sword, Saber got to her feet and walked two steps away, turning her back to the woman.

"I cannot take it. It is yours."

"But I gave up the right," she said even as she pulled the swor dback toward her like it was a precious thing. And for her, it was. She had given up everything, the only things left she could call her own being this sword and this ridiculous dress. Even the trunk at the foot of her bed had been completely empty and, she had a feeling, would always remain so.

Arturia dismissed her sword, the fear in her heart receding. Even if this version of herself could hold it, she refused, claimed the sword belonged to her. Somehow, that softened her to her other self. She'd feared she would be like Morganna, but the simple fact she didn't simply snatch the sword out of her hand to prove something told her far more about this woman's character than the corruption she bore did.

"But I thank you, and I apologize for my mistake earlier."

"And when the Holy Grail is mine, I will do the same," Saber pointed out, still not turning around.

So, this Arturia had won the Holy Grail. Which War had it been in? Had Kiritsugu not betrayed her in the Fourth or had Shirou proved to be a competent enough Master in the Fifth? A different possibility crept into her mind then, one that turned her stomach for a moment. The white dress... the way she wore her hair... the sorrow and such femininity... Had this Arturia accepted Gilgamesh's proposal?

If that was the case, it would come out sooner or later. And if it did, Saber would have to-- Actually, she didn't know what she would do if that was true. She couldn't believe her own self, in any timeline, in any life, would have accepted that man's advances, wanting to possess her just to enjoy watching her suffer.

Turning around, Saber's armor dissipated. "You have paid for that mistake in blood. Let it be in the past."

Very well. The mistake would be in the past, but suddenly it seemed desperately important to keep this version of herself from obtaining the Grail. There was only one conclusion she could come up with regarding the Grail from this version of herself's world if she was corrupted so. If some version of Camelot could be saved, if she could save something, it would be worth it, would it not?

"If so, are you prepared to be stuck in this?" she said, letting some disdain slip into her voice as she held out her skirt in a clenched fist. Complaining about it distracted her, gave her time to think on how to warn her other self about what would happen if she wished upon a corrupted Grail.

"Perhaps by giving up my own legend the world saw fit that I become a parody of myself. I was not kidding when I said this is all I have to wear." Even a more modern dress would have been better than this frilly monstrosity. When she got the chance she was going to find more appropriate clothing to wear besides this or that awful white body suit she'd awoken in.

"Then you phrased your wish poorly," Saber decided.

Even if they were the same person, if this Arturia had stuck to the original reason for that wish, Saber's reasons had changed. She had changed. She didn't care what she wore afterward as long as she was free of the anachronistic fetters.

"And stay here. I shall return in a few minutes. Do not make me hunt you down." And with that, Saber left the room, heading for her own. She would return shortly with a bundle in her hand.

It didn't help she couldn't remember the exact phrasing of her wish. She'd been in shock at the time and Saber's statement of wording her wish poorly made her heart clench. Yes, she knew Camelot's destruction was her own fault, that she no longer deserved to be king if she ultimately destroyed her own country by her hand. If this Saber knew this and knew of the Grail's corruption then, perhaps, she was already thinking ahead for such a possibility.

It was then she decided, at the very least, regardless of how little her other self would think of her, she would tell her what had happened so as to avoid her fate. Ridiculous dresses were the least of her worries: ensuring Camelot's safety would always come first.

"What is that?" she asked, now sitting atop her trunk when her other self returned, glancing at the bundle. What could she possibly wish to show her?

Drawing next to her other self, Saber set a familiar set of clothes into her lap. She, herself, would never don them again. They ill-suited her and, well, she wasn't fond of her time with Shirou as her Master.

Aside from meal times, that was.

"Something else for you to wear. Keep them if you wish." Saber sat down on the bed again. She gave a light snort. "So much for keeping my identity secret here."

She stared at the clothes with her mouth hanging open, the clothes that had originally been a gift from Rin, that she'd worn through the Fifth Grail War. Arturia let a small smile cross her lips, let some fondness come

Yes, even if corrupted, she knew this other self was still her deep down in there if she was willing to protect some semblance of pride.

"Thank you," she said and, not being ashamed of her body at all, dismissed that ridiculous dress, stood, and began to remove the body suit this place had put her in. At least she could start feeling like herself again in some form.

The entire time she changed she continued talking:

"At least you have an identity to protect. I've been at a loss of what to even call myself. I was not brought here as a Servant so 'Saber' does not fit and I have no right to 'Pendragon' any longer. It's maddening."

Even though it was another version of herself and a body she knew well, it was not her, so Saber averted her eyes out of respect as Arturia changed.

"Then you are simply Arturia." She then smirked and looked back over at Arturia once she knew the woman was decent enough. "Or Wart."

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And, yes, this is me giving permission to kill her horribly.

Alter will kill her until she is dead. DED dead.

BRAVISIMA~~! Now lets just twist the knife some more.

And just for flavor...

And now for a proper continuation!

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